Creature Keepers and the Burgled Blizzard-Bristles

by Peter Nelson

  “Ew!” Zaya yelled. “Its feet has giant humanlike toes!”

  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before!” Eldon shouted.

  “AAH!” Zaya suddenly squealed. “ITS TOES HAVE TINY FACES!”

  Zaya had the toe in question caught in a headlock. It was staring up at him with a very annoyed expression. Finally, the toe had had enough and shouted back at him.

  “WILL YOU PLEASE LET ME GO!”

  They all froze. The polite-but-angry voice sounded all too familiar. Each of them climbed off. The toe emerged from the large clump of snow and brushed itself off, revealing itself to be not a toe at all, but rather the Kanchenjungan mountain monk who was not named Jagger. Four other toes followed suit, each shaking off the snow and revealing themselves to also be not toes. The mountain monks all joined in giving Jordan and the others very irritated glares.

  “We’re not used to the traditional customs of the outside world,” Jagger said. “But this violent welcome seemed quite unwelcoming.”

  “That was my bad,” Bernard said. “Sorry about that.”

  The large, white pile of snow suddenly shifted on the ground. The monks quickly scurried over to it and began to clear off the snow. A moment later they helped to its feet the great white creature who was lying beneath it. It was Wiford.

  “You see?” the Yeti scowled at them all. “This kind of thing is precisely why I never leave my mountain.”

  25

  Jordan rushed to the Yeti, but stopped short of giving him a hug. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

  “The question is not how, but why.” Wilford placed a paw on Jordan and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Since that last fateful day I saw you, young Grimsley, I have bravely undertaken a long, soul-searching, transformative journey.”

  “That day just a couple of days ago?” Jordan said.

  The Yeti ignored him. “Those were dark times. My purpose on this planet had been quite literally stripped from me, leaving me with a deep feeling of emptiness—not to mention a very chilly upper lip.”

  Jagger and the other monks nodded sympathetically.

  “I embarked upon a reflective wandering. A walkabout, to search for answers. I set out for the four remaining treasures of the high snow. How long my journey might take—that was not my concern.”

  “Couldn’t have taken long,” Jordan said. “It was literally, like, yesterday you left.”

  “As fate would have it, my very first stop brought me face-to-face—with Destiny.”

  “That’s me,” one of the monks said.

  “That’s you?” Zaya said.

  The little monk shrugged and gestured toward Jagger. “I figured if he could just choose any name for himself, why not me? I’ve always liked Destiny. So that’s my name now. Destiny.”

  Another monk piped up. “I’m Quasar! Cool, right?”

  “I’m calling myself Thunderbolt,” another said. “That or Ezra. Still on the fence.”

  Wilford cleared his throat. “Getting back to my story. It was Destiny who led me to witness an incredible sight. And reach a life-changing realization.”

  “I brought him back to camp,” Destiny said. “I was having a pee in the woods.”

  “I stumbled out of the wilderness and came face-to-face with these giving souls who for years had cared for me. They were cold, hungry, and homeless. And here I was—lost, lonely, and bristle-less. Yet when they saw me . . . they bowed before me.”

  The Kanchenjungan mountain monks were rapt in attention, grinning at the creature they loved. Wilford grinned right back. “It was at that moment, young Grimsley, that I knew I was just as lost as your grandfather was when he found me, all those years ago. And just like him, I realized I was never alone at all.”

  A warm chill ran through Jordan. He glanced at Eldon, who was wiping away a tear. The monks all went in for a group hug, embracing Wilford as he continued.

  “I told your grandfather I was not concerned with the protection he offered me. I told myself I was all alone and didn’t need anything watching over me. But I’d always been protected and always watched over. Not from above. From below.”

  He looked down. The mountain monks were still hugging him. A moment passed. “Okay. Thanks, guys. How about a little personal space? Still getting used to being around others, so . . .” They pulled away. “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “Wait,” Jordan said. “So you’re saying you’re here to help us?”

  “Years ago, I set your grandfather on his path to give the cryptids hiding in this world the same safety, security, and peace of mind I thought I had on my mountaintop. I watched from that perch as he fulfilled his destiny. Now I understand it was humans all along who protected my solitude and provided my security.” He smiled down at the monks, then looked grimly back at Jordan. “The protection you Creature Keepers provide to my fellow cryptids is under attack. Unfortunately for Chupacabra, this is now . . . very much my concern.”

  Eldon stepped forward. He lifted his hand to the brim of his hat, giving Wilford the Badger claw salute. “Welcome aboard.”

  “But how did you find us,” Bernard asked. “And how’d you get here so fast?”

  The monks scrambled over to the snow pile where Wilford had been buried and dug out a long, hand-carved banyan-tree toboggan. It had room for six mountain monks, and leather reins attached to a Yeti-sized harness.

  “She can get moving pretty fast,” Jagger said.

  “Not as good a sled as that Kappa’s shell, but still,” Wilford said. “As for finding you, it wasn’t too difficult. From the monks’ base camp, we spotted many creatures heading through the mountain pass below. We sledded down the north slope, right into one of the tunnels. Then it was a straight shot all the way here.”

  “Excuse me,” Zaya interjected. “By any chance did you happen to come across an enormous worm in your travels?” He spread his arms wide. “About yay long, maybe times a couple hundred or so, coos when you give her belly scritches?”

  “Hard to miss,” Wilford said. “She was snoring away in the middle of the tunnel. Looked yak-tired, the poor thing, but she wasn’t injured. We squeezed around her and let her rest.”

  “She’s okay!” Zaya ran to the mouth of the tunnel where Wilford had been ambushed. “CORKY! STAY STILL, GIRL. I’M COMING!” He scampered up the slope of the snow wall and disappeared inside the parked Heli-Jet.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” Jordan said. “And so proud you’re joining us.”

  “Being part of a team is new to me, young Grimsley. But I’ll do my best.” He began strolling across the snow toward the jungle. “Wherever or however I’m needed, my sole purpose is to work with you all, as one. I totally get that now. Count me in.” He turned toward the trees, but glanced back. “All right, then. I’ll see you all later. I’m off to single-handedly get my Blizzard-Bristles back and kick that Chupacabra’s butt. Shall we all meet up here later? Y’know, as a team?”

  “What? Wait!” Jordan rushed toward him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going in. By myself. On behalf of the team.”

  “You don’t do things on behalf of the team,” Jordan said. “The team does things as a team. That’s the whole point of being a team! We make a plan, and then figure out the best way to execute the plan, and then we—WILFORD!”

  The Yeti nodded to Jordan, but kept inching his way closer to the forest. “No, no. This is good stuff. I’m listening. You keep explaining. I’ll be back in a bit. But seriously, super teamwork!” He gave thumbs-up to the monks, who waved and applauded and gave thumbs-ups back. Jordan and Eldon turned to look. When they looked back, the Yeti was gone.

  “Hey!” Jordan yelled.

  Zaya suddenly came bounding back down the snowy slope, wearing his pump-and-sprayer tank. “Okay, I’m off!”

  “Where are you going?” Eldon said.

  “I’m going to save Corky. They passed her in that tunnel, so that’s where I’m headed. I’m her Ke
eper, and she needs my help.”

  Eldon saluted him. “Can’t argue with that.”

  Zaya saluted back, then trotted off in the opposite direction from Wilford, disappearing into the snow tunnel. Jordan couldn’t help but feel things were falling apart. He looked at Eldon. “First Abbie, then Wilford, and now him? This is just great.”

  Bernard stepped up. “I’m still here. Skunk Ape Squadron, reporting for duty!”

  “Oh, no,” Eldon said. “You’re to stay out of that jungle. You and the monks keep out of sight, and out of danger. Watch for any more cryptids coming through.”

  “But I want to help you guys,” Bernard said.

  “I know, but you can’t. I need you out here. Try to get through to Doris, and see that the Heli-Jet is operational. We may need to make a quick exit.”

  Bernard stamped his foot, then turned to face Jagger and the other monks. “You heard Ranger Rulebook, guys. C’mon, let’s go.” He began hoisting them, one by one, up the snowy slope, so they could board the Heli-Jet.

  “He and I are going to have a talk about his attitude when this is all over,” Eldon said.

  “Right,” Jordan said. “But for now, we’ve got to figure out what’s left to do.” He looked down at his hand as he counted off all the solo missions that had suddenly split off. “Let’s see, Abbie’s gone to rescue Morris. Wilford’s gone in to steal back his Blizzard-Bristles. Zaya’s headed into the tunnel to save Corky. And Bernard is keeping the monks safe back in the Heli-Jet. Okay. So that leaves you and me to— HEY!” Jordan shouted at Eldon as the Badger Ranger suddenly leaped over the ground brush and ran straight into the dark forest.

  “Don’t worry, Jordan!” Eldon’s fading voice shouted back. “I’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s mind-controlling those cryptids!”

  Jordan stood near the edge of the jungle, one foot on the green grass, the other in the snow. “Okay, then,” he said as he stepped into the jungle. “I guess that leaves me to just take care of trying to find the cryptid with the mysterious fourth elemental power who may or may not exist.” He suddenly shouted out to nobody: “Great job, everyone!”

  26

  The thick forest was humid and teeming with life, especially compared to the cold and barren expanse surrounding it. There were exotic plants and flowers Jordan had never seen before, bursting with color from the moist, rich soil beneath his feet.

  He made his way in the direction Wilford had disappeared, dodging the bamboo and leaping over the wild mushrooms and massive ferns, trying his best to employ Eldon’s spooring techniques. He noticed a small patch of white fur hanging from a low branch not too far in front of him. Against the rich, bright colors of the lush forest, this tuft of white stood out like a mini-marshmallow atop a spinach salad. He stopped and inspected it, then studied the trees nearby. Up ahead, he eyed another tuft of white.

  He collected more and more tufts of white fluff as he reached the top of a long, sloping hill. There was a clearing ahead, and Jordan quickly ducked behind a large bush. A tall man on a stone table with his back to Jordan sat staring at a large, vine-covered stone wall in front of him. The ground around and under the man was littered with the same white fluff Jordan had been plucking as he spoored his way toward Wilford. Unless Chupacabra decided to shave the rest of Wilford, all this white fluff wasn’t adding up.

  The man sitting near Jordan had slick black hair and wore a long trench coat. He was very tall, with legs that dangled from the stone table. A cold chill dropped into Jordan’s stomach as he suddenly recognized him. It was Señor Areck Gusto.

  It couldn’t be, Jordan thought. There was no reason Jordan could think of for Chupacabra to disguise himself again. Besides, in order to transform, the cryptid would need to find and use a sacred half human, half cryptid, called a cryptosapien, and those were not only very rare, but in Jordan’s experience they were also very stubborn and annoying. But there was Gusto, Jordan was sure of it. The other thing he was sure of was that disguised or not, if this was Chupacabra, Jordan had to make a move.

  He steadied himself for a surprise attack, calming his nerves with the observation that Gusto appeared to be missing all three of the powers that Chupacabra had stolen. Along with the element of surprise, this gave Jordan the confidence he needed to single-handedly try and overtake Chupacabra. It was now or never.

  Jordan moved out of his hiding spot, readying himself for an attack, when a voice suddenly stopped him cold, forcing him to duck behind the brush again.

  “Well, there you are! Sitting right where I left you, hee-hee . . .” The voice was high-pitched and raspy, an old man’s voice. Jordan had heard it before. It belonged to someone he never expected to see again.

  A wrinkly old man stepped out in front of Gusto, looking just as bald and hunched as he did the last time Jordan had seen him, the night Jordan thought he had drowned. “Harvey Quisling?” Jordan whispered to himself.

  Harvey was an ex–Creature Keeper, one who had betrayed the rest of them. He’d been the Keeper of Peggy, the Giant Desert Jackalope, but had abandoned his cryptid to help Gusto kidnap the Loch Ness Monster. Once Gusto had no more use for Harvey, he cast the old man aside. But apparently, the foolish traitor was back.

  “You’re looking good, Señor Gusto.” The old man snickered. “Thanks to me, as usual, hee.”

  Gusto didn’t budge, even as Harvey leaned in very close to him. “What’s that?” He held a hand to his ear. “What did you say? You’re sorry for everything you did to me? Is that right? Well guess what, Señor?”

  WUMP! Harvey suddenly punched Gusto in the belly. “Apology denied!” A tuft of white fur flew up as Harvey laughed in Gusto’s face.

  Jordan looked down at the white fur in his hand. It was the same stuff.

  “QUISLING!” The little old man spun around at the sound of this new voice. It made the hair stand up on the back of Jordan’s neck.

  “Y-yes, Chupacabra!” Harvey began picking up the pieces of white fluff and frantically stuffing them back into Gusto’s jacket. “Coming, sir!” He shuffled off, around to the other side of the vine-covered, ancient-looking stone wall, leaving Gusto sitting perfectly still.

  Jordan slowly crept out from behind his bush again. If this man wasn’t Chupacabra in disguise, then who was he? As Jordan approached, the seated figure began to slowly slump over. Maybe he’s conked out on that Siberian valerian root, Jordan thought. This should be easy.

  Jordan leaped, tackling Gusto off the table and onto the floor. He pinned him down and looked at who—or rather, what—he was fighting.

  It was a fake Gusto. Not that Gusto hadn’t always been a fake, but this wasn’t a fake in the sense that it was a disguise for Chupacabra. This was a fake fake—a life-sized doll, stuffed with white fluff, sewn together, and dressed in Gusto’s clothes. The greasy black hair was just waxy yarn sewn to a pillowcase, with a rather crude likeness of Gusto’s eyes, nose, and mouth stitched onto it. Jordan picked up the doll and stared at the pillowcase face.

  “No wonder Harvey Quisling was so brave with you,” he said. He placed the doll back on the table, then looked over at the stone wall where Harvey had disappeared. He carefully approached it and peered around to the other side. He was apparently in the backstage section of an ancient amphitheater. On the opposite side of the wall was the stone stage, and before it was a grassy clearing. Assembled in that field, silently staring blankly up at nothing, were dozens of cryptids of all shapes and sizes. But none of them looked particularly special.

  “He’s got them all hypnotized,” Jordan said to himself.

  “Look at them, Quisling!” Chupacabra’s voice was just a few feet from Jordan’s head, right on the other side of the wall. He ducked back and listened the best he could.

  “Assembled out there is our future army,” Chupacabra’s voice continued. “The Cryptovian Homing Utility Persuading Apparatus we attached to that collar has worked even better than I planned.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Harvey stammered. “Movi
ng it here attracted so many more cryptids than the test we conducted in the middle of the desert.”

  “And it works because of those tracking collars the Creature Keepers so helpfully gave all the cryptids! We must remember to send them a thank-you note for providing such reliable technology!”

  “Yes, yes.” Harvey giggled. “Hee-hee—”

  “Shut up, Quisling. Have you prepared the puppet?”

  “Of course, sir. Some of my best needlework, if I do say so—”

  “Well, it had better work, or you’ll find yourself exiled again. And next time, I won’t take you back.”

  “Sir, why not just use their tracker devices to force them to follow you?”

  “Because you can lead a creature to war, but you can’t make him fight. The signal from my apparatus to those collars only lured them here. I have to win their hearts, Quisling. Just as I’ve won yours.”

  “And what if you can’t?”

  “Well, that will be unfortunate—for them. I’d prefer my army follow me of their own free will. If not, I have enough valerian-root powder to put them all to sleep for a long, long time.”

  “I’m sure they will accept you as their true leader—especially once you trick them with your hoax of beating up a giant doll!”

  There was a moment of silence. “Shut up, Quisling.”

  “Right. Of course. Sorry, sir.”

  “This had better go perfectly. I need my cryptid army to begin preparing for Operation Pangaea while I firefly to collect the fourth elemental power necessary to create the power of the Perfect Storm!”

  “Um, forgive me, sir, but fireflying that distance will require using up your very last blaststone.”

  “Don’t tell me that, Harvey. One stone was all I needed to firefly back and forth between Canada and the Amazon.”

  “Yes, but that was half the distance, sir. And you’ve already depleted this last stone to reach the Himalayas, and then to melt the Yeti’s trail, and I fear that—”